


First Impressions (or How to Succeed in Bullshit Relationships without Really Trying)

by Covergollum



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015), The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: AU, Boss/Employee Relationship, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, actually the timeline just sucks please don't pay attention to it, enemies? they're not friends to co-workers to friends to lovers, i don't even know what this is, non-canonical timeline, please be kind I haven't written in years, possible alex/astra? haven't thought it through yet, should i continue?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 10:44:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Covergollum/pseuds/Covergollum
Summary: Miranda Priestly, former almost-lover slash boss of now multimillion dollar CEO powerhouse Cat Grant, is getting married. To her assistant. When she specifically told Cat she would never do that. Needless to say, it hurts, and now both Cat's pride and reputation are threatened, so she needs a way to get back at her former fling, STAT. Enter Kara Danvers. Not her first choice, but Kara needs a job, and Cat needs a more-than-assistant, desperately. Thus a fake relationship is mutually beneficial. Emphasis on fake, because it will never amount to anything more than that--Cat wouldn't let it, and Kara could never love someone as arrogant as Cat Grant, even if she did spend the better part of her life hero-worshipping her. Yes, an elaborate media scam is all this will ever be, and once it's over, they'll go back to being completely professional co-workers. It's the perfect plan.Mirandy only mentioned, not active characters in the fic, //loosely/ based on Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, obviously very very AU





	1. Chapter 1

The news comes from one of her junior editors, at exactly 10:07 in the morning, over her company email account. The girl had scooped the Daily Planet and procured an admittedly larger story for their celebrity section, but her sub-textual grandstanding in the humble way she phrased her pitch for an article was enough to make Cat Grant’s blood boil. At least, that’s the reason she tells herself, hoping this millennial’s disgustingly overt pat-on-the-back for doing her damn job is enough to explain the cold, pins-and-needles sensation that makes her usual languid posture stiffen and freeze, and the subsequent waves of red hot rage that follow.

It is a truth Cat can not deny—she is subject to the human emotion of jealousy. Not very much, and only on occasion, but still subject to it nonetheless. And this is no exception. Cat taps her pen on her desk and rolls her shoulders back, feigning indifference as she reads and rereads the email on her computer screen. Miranda Priestly Engaged to be Married to Young Assistant – Details on Dress to Follow.

She prickles at that, recalling one fateful conversation twenty years ago…

 _“Catherine, listen, listen…you know I care for you. I do. I’m sorry, darling, but I just don’t think it will work.”_  
_“It?”_  
_“Us.”_  
_A pause._  
_“It’s not just the fact that you’re my assistant, although that does play a role. It’s not right, ethically. It’s...I mean, it would look bad for me, for the company, not to mention the age difference…but...but you, you have so much potential, and you’ll do so much. We both will. And this would be career suicide, for the both of us. It’s not that I don’t want you…I just can’t start a romance with my assistant.”_

She was right, of course. The timing was off; Miranda had the prospect of children, her career, and if she’s being honest with herself, there is no way Cat’s ambition would have been sated in being the trophy wife of this powerful and widely admired woman, the somebody of a Real Somebody. No, she had greater things planned. And she had accomplished them, without any help from Miranda. She had made a name for herself, by herself. She had her own company, her own children, so why did she still feel cheated when she thought about what might have been? Why did she still feel like an imposter whenever she channeled Miranda’s strength, adopted her mannerisms, her aloof and unaffected confidence, her power when things went wrong? A jut of her hip and a twirl of her hand scared off any idiotic employee; her hands on her hips, her pen or her glasses to her lips, her scathing wit…she relies on Miranda.

She supposes, as long as she is wrapped up in her mushy self-reflection, that Miranda is also the reason she can’t keep a personal assistant for more than two weeks. Not that she ever thinks she’d fall in love with one, no, she’d never make that mistake. No, it’s just that her expectations had been raised too high by her own extraordinary competence. She _had_ been _exceptional_ at anticipating her boss’s needs, she muses.

On that thought, she tears herself away from her computer and steels herself up to dial down to HR. She’ll have them send up whoever is left of today’s batch of applicants, fire her current excuse for an assistant, and then maybe she’ll take herself out to Noonan’s. She’ll need more coffee if she is expected to get through the day without firing anyone else (she might have made some specific cuts to the fashion and celebrity departments, solely for the benefit of the company, of course.)

Cat dials the numbers adeptly, almost without thinking, as she pulls up some more articles to proof before noon, Miranda and her new fiancée all but pushed from her mind.  
\---

 _Goodness gracious_ , Kara thinks to herself as she shifts yet again in the overcrowded elevator, she’s so _jittery_. She knows she should try to regulate her breathing, focus on only one stimulus the way Alex taught her to, and in truth, she does try, even to the point of weirding out her fellow elevator-mates as she closes her eyes and leans maybe a bit too far forward to inhale the familiar scent of a very uncomfortable man’s latte. But she can’t seem to keep her mind from running through every article she’d ever read on the subject of nailing an interview, or making a good impression. And soon noises from four blocks away start to filter in, and she can feel every single movement in this tiny, cramped elevator, and it’s all she can do to appear normal and unaffected as she retreats further into her own mind.

She’s worried, not only because she’d been to fourteen other interviews in the past two weeks and faced the same pleasant-faced, firm-handshake, “we’ll get back to you,” adieu (and she may not have spent much time on Earth, but she’s picked up on enough body language analysis to know that, as Simon Cowell says, that’s a no from them). No, she’s worried because this is _Cat Grant_. _The_ Cat Grant, Queen of All Media, the most powerful woman in National City, and Kara knows she needs to blend in, but Rao she really, _really_ wants to blend in _here_.

It is these longing, anxious thoughts that cloud her head so badly that she walks right into some poor boy as she exits the elevator on autopilot.

“Pardon me, excuse me--” a thump, “Oh! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--…oops…sorry,” she stutters, holding up her hands awkwardly in either apology or defense. She shoots a contrite half-smile over her shoulder at him and scrambles faster toward the desk ahead.

To her surprise, he jogs to catch up to her, matching her in awkwardness: “Um, hey…hey, that’s okay, I’m? My name’s Winn. Uh, Winn…Schott. Junior. And who are…you?”

She smiles again, and grips his hand, “Kara Danvers.”

“Oh! That’s, uh, that’s quite a firm, uh…quite a firm handshake you’ve got going on there.”

He seems nice, in a bumbling way, much like Kara, and she’s glad to have met someone friendly for once, but she really really needs to get to that desk and prepare. She needs to calm down and focus, if the casual slip of her powers is anything to go by. She deflects, “Well, I work out…” She can’t stand lying. More deflecting, “Yeah, I mean, um, I read in this article somewhere when you’re going in for a big interview you should start with a firm….shake…yes.”

It seems to do the trick. He sobers: “The interview, uh, what job?”

“Assistant! To Cat Grant!”

“Oh! Does the current assistant know that she, uh?” The aforementioned unfortunate assistant cuts beside them and makes toward the elevator with her hands covering her tear-reddened face.

Oh Rao.

“She knows.”

“Next!” A commanding voice calls, the single syllable saturated with every ounce of boredom and irritation a human being could possibly muster.

“Is that…” he points uncertainly, “you?”

“Where’s my 10:15?” the voice questions.

Kara rolls back her shoulders: “I guess that’s me. Any advice?”

He smiles, a bit. Just small. Genuine. “Nah, just…just be yourself,” he offers.

“Right. Myself,” she grimaces and scrounges within herself to bring up any semblance of confidence, and makes her way into the glittering glass office.  
\---

“Miss Grant! Hi, I’m—”

The girl’s chipper though professional attempt at a Good First Impression is cut short with Cat Grant’s exasperated drawl of, “Ohhhhhhhhh, for God’s sake I told them not to send me any more millennials.” Cat Grant, who hardly even bothers to look up at her last interview-ee of the day. Who is still half-thinking, despite her attempts to push the fashion mogul out of her head altogether, of ways she can get back at Miranda for shoving her heartbreak so publically in Cat’s face without even a text. What’s even worse is that she’s getting more media coverage, even if CatCo won’t cover their story, and Cat will be damned if she lets their ten-plus years of (not-so) friendly rivalry finally pull in favor of Miranda.

She does look up though, long enough to notice that she is pretty, even exceptionally so. Not handsome enough to tempt Cat, obviously, but not altogether disagreeable. But with the morning she’s had, Cat can hardly stomach the concepts of “pretty” and “assistant” so nauseatingly juxtaposed, so she turns her chair and refuses to even entertain the notion of speaking professionally with this walking Children’s Place ad.

“I’m sorry?” she dares to question.

Why not take out all of her anger and self-righteous annoyance at the news she’s received, at the day, at this generation on this one woman who has the gall to be not altogether disagreeable? It’s a far better pick-me-up than coffee, and it saves her the off-chance of firing another employee out of temper.

She directs all her rage at this new fiancée of Miranda’s, at the now ex-employee who brought her the news, at her own blinding ignorance both then and now into her words: “You are the ultimate example of what is wrong with parenting today. All that god-awful self-esteem building. Everyone is special, everyone gets a trophy, and you all have opinions that you think deserve to be heard, and yet the truth is, you need to earn the right to have an opinion in the first place,” she contemplates the true meanings of her words, decides she’s had enough catharsis, and spins in her chair. “So. My 10:15. Tell me why you’re so special.”

“I’m not.”

Well that gets Cat Grant’s attention.

“Special,” the cardigan-clad, not-ugly woman elaborates. “I’m not special,” she moves to sit across from Cat and sets down her bag, “There’s nothing special about me; I’m totally and completely one hundred percent normal.”

“Yes,” Cat states, “you are.”

The woman across from her begins to explain in detail her absolute average-ness, and it’s grating enough to nullify Cat’s earlier surprise, but she rectifies her mistake by impressing Cat yet again, this time anticipating her needs almost as well as Cat had anticipated Miranda’s all those years ago. There might actually be some potential hidden beneath that cutesy exterior.

And she wants to be useful. And she’s willing to sacrifice everything for this job. And she’s cute, probably younger than Miranda’s new fling…. The cogs begin to turn in Cat’s head even as the woman steps out of Cat’s office, bag clutched tightly in hand.

It wouldn’t be decent. No. It would most likely make Cat an even worse person than Miranda, and the legality of it is questionable at best. Even so…  
\---

Kara, having been dismissed, scurries out of the glass chamber and almost bumps right into Winn again, who seems to have been waiting for her.

“Whoa, hey, hey,” he holds up his hands in a pose similar to Kara’s from before, hands up in both supplication and confusion, “slow down. Jogging out here like a crazy lady. How-how’d the interview go? What’d she think?”

Kara’s head reels. Cat’s rant plays over and over again in her mind on repeat. She flounders, at a loss for words, “I-I…I? Listen, I don’t usually say mean things about people, but that woman?” she points, “Is not nice.”

He grins, “Yeah.. yeah… although people usually say a lot worse. Speaking of which, that’s mean? For you?”

“I..I just!” She’s still so flustered, so many conflicting emotions at war in her mind: Disappointment, outrage, self deprecating pity, confusion, understanding, sympathy and fear and a hundred other emotions that she won’t even _begin_ to put a name to, because _nobody should be allowed to have lips that poofy._

She can understand Cat’s perspective, of course, or she can try to at least, and she recognizes the truth in her words. To be honest, the rant probably wouldn’t even have affected her, had it been directed at some other poor soul. It just hurts. Because this is Cat Grant, _the_ Cat Grant that Kara has looked up to for _years_ , ever since Clark took a job at the _Daily Planet_ , and to find her hero’s _pride_ so…

She’s halfway to verbalizing all these racing thoughts to Winn, who has been watching her gesticulations with amusement, when he asks, “So, do you think you got the job?”

She falters, “I…” and tells the truth, sadness creeping in only the tiniest bit, “I don’t think she likes me.”

His smile falls, and he nods, sympathetic. “I’m sorry…” Then he tries to lighten the mood, “Well, look at it this way…” Winn touches her arm tentatively, grinning, “if you got the job, you’d actually have to talk to her.”

Kara nods and laughs lightly, some of the tension already dissipating, “Yeah, I guess that’s tr-“

“Karen?” Two syllables, with somehow even more contempt and apathy than before.

Both heads whip toward the glass office. It’s Kara who begins, brow drawing together, “K-k-Kara…?”

“Kiera then, whatever.” Media’s Mistress in Chief taps her fingers against her office doorway in feigned indifference and does not deign to look at her. “Come back in my office. I have a proposition for you.” She finally takes her eyes off her nails and gives Kara a scathing once-over: “That is, if you’re still interested.”

With that, Cat turns and saunters back into her office, hand twirled in all her CEO glory, fully expecting the woman to be right on her tail.

Kara turns back to Winn, distress evident in all of her features, “I..I? What-?”

Just as surprised, Winn shoos Kara onward, “Go! GO!”

And she’s gone.  
\---

It was….quite a proposition. Cat wasn’t lying about sacrificing everything for the job. Of course, it’ll be only pretend, and it won’t have any of….. _you know…that…. stuff_. Which she totally doesn’t mind, it’s not like she wants that anyway, because that would be _weird_. And Kara will still have all of her regular assistant duties, and she’ll be treated just like any other CatCo employee. Which is good, great. Because even without the other…things…this is still the opportunity of a lifetime, and even if she’s still mad at her, Kara will be working for her almost-lifetime idol, and…

She took the job. With all that it entails.

As she exits the CatCo building, in search of Noonan’s (because of course she starts right away,) the full extent of her actions catches up with her.

So much for blending in.

Oh, Rao, what will Alex say?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: I am sorry--for the long wait, short chapter, and in advance because let me just tell you, I am the //worst/ and this will most likely happen again. I have...so.......so much to do. But! I want to thank those of you who encouraged me to continue and/or left nice comments, you made my whole week! And thank you to everyone who is reading this fic! I hope you enjoy some sister night bonding (I miss sister nights so much).

“You _what?”_ Alex screeches, setting down her ice cream and spoon and turning toward her sister with murder in her eyes.

“Alex, please, it’s not that big a deal!” Kara deflects, avoiding her older sister’s glare. She mentally berates herself for bringing this up during sisters’ night—she could have just as easily sent a text and dealt with the ramifications later (stupid, stupid, _far_ too caring.) Dejected and evasive, Kara feigns nonchalance as she swirls a dino-nugget in her small, sad pile of ketchup, and waits for Alex’s…

“ _Not_ that big a _deal?_ Kara, you went in to interview for a day-job as an assistant and you came out with your own private escort service! I mean, for God’s sake…” she turns her eyes skyward, composing a way to express all of her worries and frustration while still maintaining that she cares, cares, _cares_ for her sister too much to let this be: “Don’t you think she’s taking advantage of you? At least a little?”

Kara frowns, “I..I..I wouldn’t call it taking advantage. I mean, we’re both adults, and I signed the contract knowing full well what I was getting in-“

“She made you sign a _contract?!”_

“ _Anyway,_ I signed the contract knowing full well what I was getting into, and I just don’t see why this is that big of a problem! I mean, it’s not like I’m _actually_ dating her, it’s just pretend. Like an acting gig, or-or going undercover,” She turns toward her sister and quips, “You should know all about that, Miss FBI.”

Alex quiets and shifts a little, which seems strange, but Kara doesn’t bring it up. Instead she seizes the opportunity to calm her sister: “Listen, Alex…it’s…it’ll only be for a little while. Once the media gets bored, we can drop it, and I’ll go back to being regular old Kara Danvers the assistant. No one will ever be the wiser. And Miss Grant promises I’ll still have my job-- that’s in the contract too! There’s nothing to worry about.”

Alex looks up at her sister and swallows, “I-I thought you wanted…We agreed you would try to blend in.”

Kara groans good-naturedly, flops back on the couch and grabs a pillow to hug to her chest: “I _knew_ you would say that. But! I’ve already thought about it and it all works out. No one will ever suspect that Kara Danvers, Cat Grant’s new fling, has superpowers because, well, because one I won’t show them, and more importantly, _two,_ because no one ever expects people so in the public eye to be anything less than human! It’s like hiding in plain sight! I’ll be so overt, it’s covert. I mean, yeah, there was that thing online where people thought that Keanu Reeves was a vampire, which, remind me, we really need to discuss because human mythology is soooo inaccurate…. And of course conspiracy theorists exist, but everyone thinks they’re crazy anyway,” she’s rambling, “But..! The point is, the overwhelming majority of humans don’t know about aliens, aside from my cousin, so…I’ll be perfectly safe.”

A pained sigh, “Kara….”

“No! It works out, I promise….I-I promise I’ll be good.”

She’s considering it: “Kara…did she even tell you _why?”_

Kara nods and looks askance, “Something about, um, increasing sales for the _Tribune_ and a competitor in New York, someone in Fashion…. I wasn’t really paying attention. I was…distracted.” She plays the memory back in her head: Cat perched on her desk, her pen to her lips, green eyes focused solely on Kara. She clears her throat.

“Oh my God,” Alex perks up, a gleeful, “no you didn’t” expression lighting up her face, “You _like_ her. _That’s_ why you signed yourself up for this mess—it all makes sense now. Oh, Kara, do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

“What?!” She colors, slightly, incensed at the accusation. “No. No…that’s? Insane. Ridiculous. I..I..I….No, never, not in a million years…and frankly I am…how could…why would you..?”

She clicks her tongue, “Oh, Kara, _really…”_

She turns on her sister, “No, Alex, don’t _really_ me. You don’t…you don’t know her-- you don’t know what she’s _like._ She’s nothing like the Cat I had imagined from her articles. She’s angry, and cold. And from the moment I walked into her office, her arrogance and conceit, her selfish disdain for the feelings of others made me realize she is the last person in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to date…outside of a fake, media scam…context.”

That unexpected outburst seems to have convinced her sister, enough so that Kara turns away and nods once, resolute, firm in the knowledge that she is in the right.

“All right…” Alex begins after a pause, passing her sister the larger part of the blanket in a gesture of goodwill, “You’ve convinced me. Just…” a sigh, “just promise me you’ll be careful. Please?”

Kara picks at the blanket and considers. Then, decidedly merciful, she rests her head against her sister’s shoulder and says, “I promise.”

Alex strokes Kara’s hair and readjusts her chin so that it rests on Kara’s head: “Good.” A sneaky smile spreads across her face, “Because if I had to continue that conversation for one more second pretending you didn’t have ketchup on the side of your cheek, I might have lost my shit.”

Kara jolts up from her spot resting against Alex, whips around, and throws her pillow at her playfully. She wipes her face against her sleeve surreptitiously, hoping Alex can’t see through her doubled over tears of laughter.

“Speaking of,” Alex jokes, still giggling, “Three boxes of dino-nuggets? We really need to introduce you to human adult food.” She leans toward Kara in facetious secrecy, “Kara, have you ever heard of a _stove?”_

Kara yanks back her pillow and throws it at her sister again, “Hey! You’re one to talk! You still have dishes in your sink from last _month.”_

She snorts, then covers her mouth, and wipes her eyes, “Fair, fair. I concede that we both need adult training. Though at least my uncleanliness doesn’t extend to my sleeve,” she points. Kara glares, and rolls up the stained part.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Alex implores, hands up in defense against another threatened pillow attack. She moves to rest back against the couch again and pats her side, “Now come ‘ere, you dork. I want to see if your moderately high Earth knowledge allows you to answer every single question wrong on _Jeopardy_ again.”

Kara huffs as she snuggles into her sister, “You’re so mean. Why do I ever tell you anything?”

She folds her arms around Kara, and lists, jokingly, “Because I’m your sister. And I know best. And my Earth knowledge is exceptionally high.” She moves to rest her chin on Kara’s head again: “And because you love me. And I love you too.”

Kara pats Alex’s arm and flicks on the TV. “Love you, Alex.”

To her credit, Kara does get an astounding six questions right.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhhhhhhh.....can i getuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh some motivation to write more than 1000 words at one time...
> 
> I swear I write this and then I don't post Forever because I'm like, *high pitched mockery of my own voice* "I'll add more to it later! I have my life together!" like alright, hon.
> 
> So I'm sorry about that. ALSO, I recognize that everyone is treating Kara like a baby (and so does Kara for that matter): Do not worry, she will get angry very soon. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and being the best ever in the world!!

“We have a problem,” Cat enunciates as soon as the glass office door shuts behind Kara’s cardigan-clad, fidgety self.

It has been two weeks since Kara first started with Cat, and, for the most part, despite occasional cutesy to the point of inducing snapchat-esque rainbow vomit mannerisms, Kara has been a tolerable assistant, which is more than Cat can say for all of her previous employees.

Armed with her legal pad of Cat Grant’s requests, Kara pushes up her glasses and starts, almost too quickly to be properly understood: “Miss Grant, I’d be happy to take another look at the arrangements for your mother’s all-expenses paid trip to…” she glances down at her legal pad, “ _’wherever is not here’_ if they’re not to your liking, or if Ellen’s staff is bothering you again about editing out that thing you said about Casey Affleck because it’s not family appropriate, I— ”

Cat twirls her hand in a wave of disgust, as if personally affronted by the fact that her assistant could possibly be thinking about work at a time like this: “No, Kiera, not that. I mean _we_ have a problem.” She stares pointedly at Kara until Kara gulps from discomfort and…something. Her finger twitches around her pen.

 “Miss Grant, I…”

Cat rolls her eyes and moves to her desk, leaning over it and splaying her fingers in her favorite power move. Distancing, yet sexy. Just disarming enough to let them know who’s boss. Kara’s eyes flick down for a fraction of a second. Cat plucks a magazine off the corner of her desk and tosses it in front of Kara. _Runway._ She glances at Kara again and says, “Page 37. Read it.”

Obviously too impatient to wait for Kara’s fumbling fingers to find the correct page, Cat begins monologuing and pacing in her Prada heels, like a well-dressed supervillain: “It features her dress… _their_ dresses. Which she commissioned especially from one of her favorite designers in Paris. I called in a favor from someone I still know at _Runway,_ and had him look up how many copies they’ve already sold. Over 400,000. Which is, on a good cycle, more than half the copies per issue that the _Tribune_ sells, except _Runway_ is expecting to go into printing again, to keep up with the ever-growing demand for copies.” She has her hands on her hips, and has momentarily stopped pacing to stare out her balcony window.

“Miss Grant, I can see why this is a problem. If our…competitor…is increasing sales, then we have to work even harder to increase interest in the _Tribune._ I have some thoughts that—“

Cat shakes herself out of her reverie, completely in shock over how this woman could be so daft, turns to face Kara, and says, “This is _not_ about the _Tribune, Kiera,”_ she emphasizes the wrong name, drawing it out, her diction alarming in its perfection and contempt. Then, noticing Kara’s confusion, she realizes her mistake and backtracks, “Not _just_ about the _Tribune._ If you had read the article,” she points derisively with her pen to the open magazine sitting in Kara’s lap, “and if your memory is as impressive as it states on your resume, you would have _noticed_ that the people in question are Miranda Priestly and her fiancée, and you should have _recalled_ that my _rivalry_ with Miranda is the reason you have a _job_.”

She can feel Kara’s objection forming in her mind, and reminds herself that their situation is mutually beneficial. Of course, she is paying Kara, but Kara is providing her a service of questionable legality that really very few other individuals would provide. She can’t _lose_ her. Not yet.

Cat takes a moment to compose herself, as Kara stares at her hands in her lap, nostrils flaring in indignation. She needs this girl, whether she likes it or not. Kara is the only one pretty enough, willing to be _useful_ enough, and with enough of the qualities that Cat can tolerate to make this scam work. Plus, where would she find another assistant/fake girlfriend on such sort notice with eyes as striking as Kara’s? Of course, the smile will get her, but it will be the eyes that really make Miranda jealous. Cat doesn’t realize she has been staring at Kara as she thinks – meditating on the great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes on the face of a pretty woman can bestow – until Kara looks up at her questioningly. Cat corrects herself for the second time in their conversation and looks away before beginning to speak again.

“The article gives a date for their wedding. June 4th. That’s in three months—much sooner than anticipated. I had assumed Miranda would plan all this out meticulously, but it seems her new fiancée has imbued in her a pension for spontaneity,” she huffs, placing a hand on her hip and rolling her eyes. “I know we agreed we would wait a month before announcing our relationship, to make it seem more natural, but if I’m going to win, we need to act fast.”

Kara nods and readies her pen, “What do you propose, Miss Grant?”

Cat smirks, slightly, a bit of that cheeky confidence creeping in: “I need you to plan me a ball.”

“A…a ball?” Kara’s brow furrows.

Exasperated, “Yes, a ball, Kiera. A gala. _Whatever._ A thousand guests. Rent out a museum, or something. Make up some noble cause to support, preferably something within the LGBT community, and we’ll announce ourselves there. Have the cost of the tickets go to charity. Make it big, make it political, and make sure _we’re_ in the spotlight. I want everything ready before next weekend.”

As Kara hurries to jot down everything Cat wants, she misses Cat looking her up and down thoughtfully, appraisingly.

“Send me your measurements and I’ll have a dress sent over within the week. What are you, a 2?”

Kara looks up from her paper, mouth hanging open in surprise. She closes it, swallows, and pushes up her glasses once more: “A 4, actually.” Kara’s much more agreeable about this change of plans than Cat had expected. She lets her pre-rehearsed argument slip out of her mind—she won’t be needing it.

Cat takes a seat at her desk and sighs contentedly, shimmying her shoulders in the happy way that she does when things, despite the circumstances, are going better than planned. “Mmm,” is all she says.

When Kara doesn’t get up to leave the instant Cat sits down, she looks over and questions, “Well? Chop chop.”

As Kara scurries out of the office, Cat takes a sip of her now cold latte and begins to plan Miranda Priestly’s public humiliation.


End file.
